


Supernatural Season 9

by SanguisetVulneraAstra



Series: Supernatural Season 9 [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 03:21:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4771574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SanguisetVulneraAstra/pseuds/SanguisetVulneraAstra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The angels are falling, Dean's panicked, and Castiel, as usual, is nowhere to be found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Episode 1 - I think I'm going to like it Here

[in progress]  
They've won, they guess, but it feels more like a loss. 

"Sam?!" 

Dean is gripping hard to his brother's shoulders, jostling the other roughly, panic thick in his veins. He feels as if he'll shake apart. All above him the sky has torn open, spilling fire that spurts across the bracken hues of night, brilliant streaks of light. Angels. Falling. 

For a brief moment, Dean wonders what Heaven must look like, if the residents are baffled or utterly unaffected, if it is in shambles, tearing apart at the seams, coming undone in a gnarled fray. Another streak flares by, and Dean starts, suddenly catching a rock in his throat. 

Castiel. 

Castiel won't answer.

"CASTIEL!" Dean tries again, voice edged on a tremor, and it isn't as desperate this time, as if the resignation is already setting in. What if the damned feather-butted imbecile is one of those balls of fire tumbling down from the sky. 

"Shit."

Dean turns away. Not right now. Not enough time. Sam is cold and looking like a corpse with blotched skin and sunken eyes, and although the glowing has gone away, he won't _move_.

"O-ok, come on, come-" And Dean grunts, hefting the dead weight of Sam into his arms with the aide of Baby's solid expanse as help, trying to leverage the taller body into the passenger seat of the car that he manages by the grace of whatever God has left them with one trembling hand. It takes a minute, but then Sam is in, so still that Dean has to run around to the other side of the car to jump in so he doesn't go back into a hectic panic. There is no time for that. No time to think, no time to mourn, just act. Save Sam. Protect Sam. Get the fuck out of here. 

He slams his foot down on the gas after throwing the transmission into reverse, and speeds away from the derelict remnants of the church. 

\- o0o -

"He's been in a coma."

The doctor standing there is pristine in white, and the whole damned place is too white, a parody of something pure or safe. Dean grits his teeth together, hands limp at his sides, feeling like a child again and dad is standing in the doorway, admonishing him for fucking up. Again. 

Sam looks indecent, even shrouded in the bed sheets of the hospital bed, tubes and wires sticking out of his skin and around his head. He's too damn tall; his feet look like they'll breach the edge of the shoddy mattress at any second. 

Dean looks back to the doctor, trying to work his mind around some protest. 

"Well," he starts, throat closing, and he grunts forcefully and attempts again, "Wake him up." The demand is rough, and the doctor looks up with an expression both reserved but empathetic. 

"I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do. He's in what we term a vegetative state, which is actually better than a coma, honestly. His GCS score is high enough that we can release him if you want, but I think it'd be best to stay here a while. We were able to bring his temperature back into normal range, and the brain scans came out positively well -he's not suffering any brain damage that'll inhibit his cognitive abilities in the future if-"

"When" Dean corrects in a hard voice. 

The doctor pauses, then nods once, looking Dean straight in the eye, "When he wakes up fully. All we can do, all _you_ can do, is wait."

Dean's mouth opens, but the doctor takes his leave without a minute for pointless protest, and Dean is left standing in the wake of his absence, wanting to punch holes into the walls. 

"Ok..." He breathes, trying to unwind the hard knot in his chest, "ok...Sam..we can't...I'll take you home."

He'll think of something. He'll steal the damned i.v. bag and a catheter, whatever. 

I can't stay here.

The walls are a pale shade of teal, and the smell of this place is making Dean's stomach churn. He drops into the chair next to Sam's bed, about to bury his head in his hands when his cell phone goes off. His heart flips up, and for a brief instant he's sure it's going to be Castiel, and oh, thank God, he can just zip over here and everything will be fine, but when he brings the cell to his ear, it's Kevin's voice that carries through the speaker. 

"Dean! Where the hell are you?! And Sam! You guys don't have the decency to pick up?! What's going on? The map's been going nuts and there are red lights all over the place and is it the Apocalypse again? It's the apocalypse isn't it, I knew-"

"Kevin" Dean interrupts wearily, rubbing at the bridge of his nose while he pinches his eyes shut. "Kevin, calm down. They're angels."

"What?"

"The lights, the map, the angels, Kevin, Heaven's falling apart, the angels are falling."

There is silence on the line, and Dean preoccupies himself with the reassuring sound of Sam's heart beat on the monitor. 

"Oh-kay" Kevin begins, blowing air out slowly through his mouth. 

"OK. Then you need to get back here and we need to fix it. I've almost finished transcribing another fourth of the tablet, and I'm sure we'll figure out what's going on. Where's Castiel?"

That catches Dean off guard. He blinks, rubs at his forehead.

"No clue, dude, he flew off right before everything happened." Probably caused the whole thing, Dean thinks wryly with a sigh, but then Kevin is talking again and Dean forgets to be angry. 

"Well get a hold of him and get back to the bunker, we need to figure this out. If the angels are here on earth, they're probably taking vessels or scrambling around like bees in the air and man, that's not good; there are still demons, Dean, and we're going to have a war between them here if we don't put everyone back where they're supposed to be. It'll be just as bad an apocalypse. And Castiel will be an immense help telling us what happened, if he even knows."

Dean sits up, mouth hanging open in an 'oh' and wonders when it was that Kevin began to grow into the brains behind the operation. Another Sam. 

No. Just another hunter. Another book-smart, intellectual, studious, cranky, hunter. 

Dean turns to the bed and watches Sam lying still as a morgue's resident, and suddenly thinks 'a man of letters.'

Maybe Kevin and Sam can start a guild.

\- o0o -

Dean stands in the hallway, leaning around the corner to make sure the coast is clear. There are no patients straggling about, and the nurses are all buzzing about the main counter, so he continues wheeling Sam (now in a wheelchair) with the I.V. bag in his lap, down towards the exit. Casual stroll. Tired discharge ready to go home and get some more rest. 

They make it to the car no problem because, hey, how many times have they done this number -broken legs, ribs, arms -checking in to a hospital with fake names and fake ids and no insurance to pay -but screw taxes, what they do saves lives and the damned world so the government and the people can complain about stolen money all they want. Dean doesn't care.

Sam's secure in the passenger seat, and Dean hopes he doesn't piss all over the seat, and is that even what coma patient's do? And he's wondering about that the whole drive back to the bunker, the radio, for once, silent -the only sound the blow of air against the windows.

\- o0o -

Their reception is not so smooth. Kevin gets to the door with a glare and a 'what the hell are you doing, I could have killed you if-' before Dean cuts him off with a jerk of the head to the slumped form of Sam in the wheelchair. 

"Help me get him inside. Just fold the chair up and take it down the stairs, I can carry him."

Kevin just nods mutely, unable to assault the Winchester with a flurry of questions; he can tell just by looking at Dean that now is not the right time. 

Dean hefts Sam up in a fireman carry, and swiftly makes the journey down the front steps and down the hall to Sam's room. Sam makes a small noise like a groan during the journey, and Dean almost drops him on the floor, but he manages to regain his bearings. He's just about got his brother settled when Kevin walks in behind him, carrying the folded up chair. 

"Should I just...set it by the door?" Kevin asks, voice lilting. Dean nods, turning back to settle the comforter over Sam's torso, before heading back towards the exit. 

"I've got to get some supplies," Dean says, before Kevin can ask where's he going. Kevin mutters an 'ok' and watches Dean stump up the steps without quite so much speed, waiting until the Winchester has vanished behind the vault-like door before sighing heavily. 

"Winchesters."

\- o0o -

He drives for an hour, just to clear his head. He stops at a gas station to fill up, then heads to a hospital where he manages to finagle the feat of stealing five i.v. bags and the knowledge of how often to change them while he's pretending to be visiting his 'grandpa'; the nurse, whose boredom was a tangible thing, answered thoroughly enough, but by the end of it, Dean feels a disdain for flirting that he hasn't felt in a while -not since the incident with the amazon warrior and his daughter. 

It doesn't help his mood, and he's driving a bit over the limit with his hands tight on the wheel while he's thinking of anything else Sam might need. He stops again by a gas station to grab a case of beer and some adult diapers; the glare he affixes the teenage cashier with keeps any snide remarks or questionable glances at bay. It's there, outside the gas station that he googles on his phone how to take care of coma patients and all the how to's of home care. Turns out that vegetative state and coma are two different things, and Dean feels the slightest amount of relief when he remembers that the doctor had used the past tense in referring to the latter, and that Sam is on the road to recovery by being in a vegetative state. He remembers Sam groaning and almost smiles. 

It's a good sign. 

Maybe he won't have to use the adult diapers and catheter after all. 

\- o0o -

He's almost home when he sees it. 

On a whim, Dean pulls into the oval parking lot. The church is small, homey, all wooden shafts painted white with brick underlay. He jingles his keys in his hands for a minute before approaching, and even though the lot is empty, when he goes towards the archway, he feels the slightest bit of relief. He finds a bench that looks out over a small cemetery, where fresh flowers have been placed by a rose-coloured headstone. 

"Well...here goes nothing."

He bows his head, hands clasped against his forehead. 

"I don't know if any of you are left, or if any of you have your ears on...but this is Dean Winchester, and I'm praying. Castiel, if you can hear me...Sam's not doing so well, and I really...I need your help, man. I don't know what happened in Heaven or whatever Metatron did, but you...you need to get to the bunker asap. Please...just...we need help. Abaddon is on the lose somewhere, and the gates of Hell are still open so the rest of you...be careful alright? No grabbing up vessels who aren't asking for it, y'know?...just Ugh...amen."

Dean sits back, sighing heavily, and looks up at the blue sky. 

\- o0o -

"Hey."

Castiel stops, shifting wearily on the side of the road that It stands upon. The truck pulled up beside It has rolled the passenger window down, and a weathered man, aged 64, leans across with a genial smile. 

"Where you headed?"

Castiel tilts Its head, knitting Its brow with a perusal of knowledge. The bunker. Dean and Sam Winchester. It tries to calculate the distance, but the knowledge escapes It. 

"I...don't know." Castiel replies, frowning heavily with the pull of lips down. The driver nods knowingly, as if picking up strangers from the sides of roads is commonplace. 

"Get in, I'll give you a ride to the nearest town."

"Thank you, I..." Castiel's fingers dig into the pockets of Its trench coat, but finds nothing but dust and fabric. "I have no fair."

The old man shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. 

"Get in, man, there's no price of helping a fellow human being."

Castiel looks to the man then, chest swelling with some foreign sensation. It knows It is grateful, and in this moment Its affection for humanity rekindles greatly, but It is confounded none the less. 

"Thank you," Castiel asserts, before prying open the door and clamouring in. It sits with Its hands in Its lap, staring forward out the window, trying in vain to hear Its brethren. There are brief murmurs, but they pass, unsettling, into silence within seconds. 

"I'm Jim," the man offers, as he starts to pull away from the edge of road and back onto the lane. Castiel nods, but finds with a surprise that It was not privy to this information as It should be. 

"I'm...Cas," It returns, and then the two lapse into companionable quiet.

\- o0o -

Jim leaves him in a town called Dayton, that Castiel ascertains is the state of Ohio. 

"You take care," Jim tells him, offering another crinkled grin. Castiel nods dutifully, but then Jim hands him several dollar bills and insists despite Castiel's refusal. 

"You get to where you're going, and that's payment enough."

He pulled away and Castiel stood fingering the weathered parchment with wondering fingers. 

It walks towards the nearest convenience store, not wholly sure of a plan of action beyond speaking to a human. Find out what they may have seen. If the event has been misinterpreted like so many others as a mere astronomical anomaly. 

A bell tinkles as It walks into the store, and It pauses in the door way, feeling, with a start of awareness, the 'cold' rush in on It. It falters around comprehension, unable to move for a moment. It cannot fathom the sensation. 

That's right, It thinks, and It can feel Its heartbeat now, the true thrum of the muscle pumping away inside Its chest.

I...am human now.

Castiel reaches up to touch the sear in Its neck like a hole through the flesh that aches as if It is being choked by a noose. Frowns ruminatively. What this will entail, Castiel hardly knows. Nor understands. 

"Welcome to Salgreens" A woman greets, and Castiel blinks and looks to her. A younger girl, with long, dark brown hair like coffee-hued wood. She smiles brightly, and Castiel merely stands there before the girl turns away, preoccupied by another customer at the counter. 

Castiel looks about, unsure of where to start. Buy a map? No, It has no idea where the Bunker is, the information, like so much else, has slipped past Its fingers like grains of sand. The lack thereof of everything It had once been endowed with is beyond frustrating, and Castiel walks forward mindlessly, lost. 

It makes a turn towards a promising section of electronics, remembering, oddly, that It has a phone. Castiel slips Its hand past the cover of Its trench coat and feels through the pockets of Its slacks, feels the smooth line of plastic and glass. 

Why had It not thought of the device sooner?

"I need to call Dean."

Castiel turns, and is met with the girl standing abruptly before It, her gaze sharp and suddenly lacking the charm of a young cashier with vigor. No. Her gaze is intent, sussing out whatever she may be looking for. For a moment, Castiel tilts Its head, feeling a dredge of wariness rise in Its gut, when the girl's face makes the obvious transition into recognition and surety. 

"I know you,"

"I-"

"You're Castiel."

Castiel falters, mouth caught open before It seals the flesh with a frown. 

"Forgive me, but I cannot...I can't _see_ you anymore." 

But the girl/angel? Demon? is making an analytic face again, her brows pulling together in a knit of concern before she gasps outright and reaches forward.

"You're grace," and her voice trembles, catching on a break; her expression is a mixture of appalled and bewildered.

"Dear Father...who...It's been ripped out?" She recoils then, looking back to Castiel's face as if their Father has cast It down for some transgression. "the edges, the remnants are so...frayed."

Castiel feels the muscles in Its face bunch and tense before It sighs. 

"Metatron...he...He took my grace for the spell; why everyone was cast out of heaven."

" _You_ did that?"

"No, unwillingly. I didn't volunteer to become..."

Castiel falters again, consternation contorting Its face. 

"Human," the girl supplies for It, and Castiel nods slowly, all the world suddenly beyond tired. 

"I'm sorry," Castiel blurts suddenly, and It is, as if the burden of the transgression is entirely upon Its shoulders, Metatron or no.

The girl shakes her head, a smile spreading across her pale face, remniscent of a roman from past ages. 

"You're going to fix it," she says simply, as if there is no other option. Castiel nods, and the girl's eyes glint. 

"I'm Hael," recognition dawns in Castiel, and a kindred empathy of solace slips into Its new found veins. "Were do we need to go? I've got a car, I can take you to where Dean is." Hael continues, although she doesn't miss the way Castiel's countenance suddenly darkens in wary regard. She elaborates,"the Winchesters are well know...and you're...association with them," she purses her lips. "Besides, I heard you say his name just now, they will help, won't they? I mean, all of this falls on them as well, if they'd just done the role that had been set-"

"It's complicated," Castiel interrupts tersely, brow knitted in consternation above steely eyes. Hael falters, nods, and steps backward out of reflex. She is an angel far below Castiel's rank, or was anyway, Castiel thinks wryly. It shakes Its head and offers a placating smile. 

"Thank you, Hael...you're help is...I'm grateful."

"Of course."

\- o0o -

Hael buys Castiel a car charger for Its cell phone, and two hours later they are heading southbound on a highway, the radio off and the air conditioner blowing cool air with a soothing hush of shifting molecules. 

"It should only be a few more minutes," Castiel offers, because Its tried to call Dean several times, only to have the device click into silence. The signal keeps dropping. Hael hums a response, gaze idle out the windshield as she drives. She handles the vehicle with surety, something Castiel marvels at, although It figures Its kin has been long at this endeavour. 

"How long have you been here?" It asks, picking up on the curiosity. Hael blinks, and glances at Castiel with a cursory gaze. 

"Three days now," she nods, musing, "but I was always fascinated in the way humans used these things." She gestures to the dashboard broadly with one hand. "And when I settled into this vessel, she helped me to learn. It didn't take long. Although...I much prefer the natural order...I wish mankind wasn't so content to be ensconced in metal and concrete."

"Hm."

"Do you..."

"No." Castiel supplies, looking out the window, "I find these...stiffling."

Hael chuckles, and shakes her head with a smooth motion. 

"I carved the expanse of the Grand Canyon, you know...what the human's call it....maybe we can see it after we've restored Heaven."

Castiel offers Hael a smile, and the angel resumes looking beyond the windshield. 

"I think, when this is done, I'll ask to be stationed here again...It's a bit more...fascinating when I can't move the same way."

"Yes."

"And you?"

Castiel falters, tongue slipping out to lather chapped lips. 

"I'm...not sure."

"Castiel..I...if you're grace is still-"

"Metatron has it."

Hael nods slowly, biting her lip,"then we'll need to find that first. Right?...You're not..."

Castiel sighs, a low exhalation that winds heavily out of It. 

"I know."

A silence ensues, and then Hael hums and adds, "You should try calling Dean again."

\- o0o -

Dean picks up on the third ring.

"Cas?!"

Castiel flinches, squinting at the loudness of the Winchester's voice.

"Dean."

"Where the hell are you man? Are you okay?"

"I'm..." Hael mutters under her breath 'Ohio' and Castiel continues, "in Ohio...where is the bunker?"

"Dude..ugh, look."

Dean goes on to explain with a simple distinction on where to go on what highway and from their current direction; Castiel repeats the instructions back to Hael, who nods dutifully, Its knowledge of the earth's geography and the American roadwork still intact. 

When Dean finishes, he pauses for half a beat, then breathes low and almost huffs.

"Look, man, Sam isn't...we really need you here." 

"I know."

"Ok, well..."

"Dean."

"...."

"I'm sorry."

There is a sudden tightness is Castiel's chest, one that constricts the feeling of breathing. It finds It can't seem to settle Itself properly. 

"It's not your fault," Dean's voice carries through the speaker abruptly, and Castiel winces, letting out a breath It didn't realize It had been holding. 

"Just get over here, ok?"

"Yes, Dean."

The line goes dead.

\- o0o -

 

"So you got a hold of Castiel?"

Dean nods with a parody of a smirk, turning away from the kitchen counter with a beer in hand. Kevin eyes him dubiously. 

"He's not crazy this time, right?"

"Right."

"Good...he kind of freaked me out."

Dean hefts a laugh, breathless, and shakes his head before taking a swig of his beer. 

"When he gets here, we'll go over a plan."

Dean nods, swallowing.

"The way I see it, we get Sam back on his feet, and then you two have to take care of Abbaddon. And then Crowley-"

"I've got Crowley."

Kevin bawks.

"What?"

"I've got Crowley. Check him off the list, we'll deal with him later. What about-

"Where?"

"Nevermind, Kevin, later, ok? We have bigger things to worry about."

"Like?"

"Abbadon, and all these friggin' angels, and keeping them from trying to wage a war here on Earth."

"Right."

Kevin slumps back into his chair at the table, brow tight and knotted. Dean sucks at his teeth, wishing he hadn't spoken up.


	2. Episode 2 - Devil May Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't tell him. No matter what, just don't...tell him.

It takes the better part of two days, but eventually, Hael and Castiel make it to their destination. Castiel is taken by Hael's adeptness at human interaction; the angel handles all the exchanges when they stop for gas to fill up the metal cage of a contraption, smiling politely and using gestures that Castiel finds Itself quietly trying to mimic as It waits patiently in the passenger seat of the car. Hael also understands the differences of existing now, even if it is a hollow spectre of a sensation, anchored in borrowed vessels that aren't quite 'theirs'. At every stop, Hael makes sure to pick up small meals, consisting mostly of fruits and bottles of water. Castiel finds the entire experience of hunger beyond disquieting, shifting with grimaces and bared teeth, as if trying to escape the confines of Its stolen skin. Hael merely chuckles as the reaction, because Its grace, although severly withered, still remains, and so It sufferes far less of the sensations. Muted, really. It allows Its own discomfort to be swept aside at the more immenent tragedy that looms over their heads. 

Castiel's hands tremble, just slightly, when Hael passes the other the bought food. 

Hael presses chapped lips together and does not mention it. 

When they arrive at the Bunker, Hael steps out of the car, and grips tightly to the metal, restraining Itself at the last moment. There is still residual strength left within Itself, and It releases the grip before leaving a dent in the roof of the car. As Hael glances over at Castiel, It notices the way the other angel seems almost...less. Castiel's hand rests percariously on the edge of the door, and It nearly stumbles as It steps out from the vehicle. Hael's jaw tightens, but It's gaze turns to the door tucked into the slight descent of what looks like a concrete hill. 

"Do...do we just walk in, or....?"

Hael trails off, keeping Its gaze on the door as It speaks. Castiel looks towards the other, biting at a lower lip that is worn and rough, a small divet already forming a permanent residence upon the flesh. 

"I'll call Dean." Cas states simply.

Breathless, Heal thinks. 

It nods and waits, folding Its arms across Its slight chest. 

\- - -

Kevin is pacing, for what seems like the upteenth time in three hours, wearing a mile into the only rug in the place. Dean watched for the first day, trying in vain to prod the boy from his obvious discomfort with witty banter and name calling. All of which did not work and gained him dirty looks and frustrated sighs that reminded Dean of his father and well...fuck all that. 

So Dean had left, the first day, taking Baby and trying to gather some sort of intel on the current outside world. Everything felt distant. Sam was, well, not dead, but not really improving either, progressing from making small garbled noises to choked half-groans. Nothing that eased the eels in Dean's gut. He had returned with not much: small cases of husbands and wives disappearing from homes with no letters or warning. Children that walked with what witnesses said 'purpose' to vanish without a trace. The list went on much the same. At first, Dean merely rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders when he ran in to other hunters, none of which seemed to have a clue about the fiasco that was Heaven's sudden vomit of all things winged. He tucked the small snippets of newspapers and information into the back of his mind to mull over later and headed to what was the closest thing he had to a 'home'. Walking back into the bunker, though, Dean had found Kevin muttering furiously to himself, scribbling with avengance on the table with three empty mugs of cofffee and a beer. 

"What the-"

"Shut up, Dean."

The crack of the kid's voice had stumped Dean entirely, and he merely stood there dumbfouded in the archway as Kevin continued to scribble away with what seemed more like stabbing of pen to paper, the tablet clutched with white fingers next to him.

"Oh-kay."

And that had been that. 

The next time Dean had seen him, it was morning, and Kevin was pacing about the main living room, muttering and scowling and randomly gripping at his hair intermittently. Dean tried once to talk to him, faltered at the sheer force of pure 'be silent' radiating off the slight figure of the kid, and sighed heavily before turning away. Breakfast was a quiet affair, and Dean peered in on Kevin from time to time, only to find that Kevin merely switched from scribbling on the floor to pacing and cursing every now and then at the tablet perched on the couch. 

Now, it's got to be sometime in the afternoon. Dean has finished checking on, cleaning, and feeding Sam, a whole ordeal he is more than eager to be over with, and is stretched out on his bed, headphones in and music blaring to jar the thoughts in his head into silence. 

Kevin, mid pace, hears Dean's phone go off from the adjoining room's table for the fifth time, stops abruptly, and shouts at the top of his lungs. 

"For FUCK'S SAKE DEAN, ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE!"

To which he is met with silence. 

Growling, Kevin stalks over to the blaring device, teeth gritted, and snaps the thing open before pushing it roughly against his ear. 

"What?!" He snarls into the phone. 

"...Kevin?"

Kevin balks.

"Castiel?"

\- - -

"Dean, get up! Now!"

Kevin bursts into Dean's room, stumbles through the door way, and shoves roughly at the older man without thinking the action all the way through. Dean, startled, splays out like a funky starfish, flails in some weird attempt to avoid a possible attack, and falls off the opposite side of the bed. Headphones ripped out, Dean sits up and glares about bewildered. 

"Wha- What happened, who's dead?"

Kevin stares at the older Winchester, a faint smile tuugging at the corner of his lips for the first time in days. 

"Cas," Kevin begins, but Dean's face falters, paling too fast for Kevin to fully comprehened. Before the Winchester can connect the disjointed conversation into the wrong idea, Kevins rushes to finish.

"is outside. He's outside, man. Castiel is outside."

Belatedly, Kevin realizes that he's put his hands up in a soothing gesture of reassurance, and wonders, in the back of his mind, about how fucked up it is that the first thing Dean asked was who died. 

Geez. 

\- - -

"So you're Hael?"

Hael nods at the man who speaks. Dean Winchester. It eyes the boy beside him with a cursory glance, before looking back to the 'Chosen' vessel of Micheal. 

"She's with me," Castiel speaks up, shifting slightly beside the other. Dean throws Castiel a look somewhere between disinterest and annoyance. Hael picks it up easily, but declines to ask about the reason why. 

"I'm here to help," Hael clarifies, nodding with a smile. "Castiel is-"

The angel breaks off abruptly, feeling the slight, almost unfathomable touch of voice between Its ears. 

Don't. 

Hael adjusts Its next words, so fluidly it would appear it had merely inhaled a breath. 

"in need, and so are the rest of us. We will not survive here long. Our...We were not made to be human."

"Wait, ok, wait" Dean holds up his hands and shakes his head, unfolding the tight cross he'd had over his chest. Kevin remains silent at his side, looking back and forth between Castiel and Hael, and occasionally at the Tablet in the other room. His gaze rests more heavily on Castiel, brow furrowing in the smooth skin of his forehead when it does. 

"What do you mean, like, you guys are just gonna croak?"

Hael finds Itself confused at the tone Dean uses, as if almost accusatory, his gaze fixed on Castiel when the last word leaves his mouth. A frown crosses Hael's lips, but It constrains the reaction and interrupts before Castiel has to.

"I mean, these bodies are not us. And eventually we will wear them away as they will us."

Dean looks back to Hael, and the angel elaborates. 

"You humans call it insanity. For us, it would be more like..." Haels hands spin uselessly in the air "like trapping a bird in a windowed room. Eventually the bird will bash its head until it breaks its neck."

A heavy silence follows, and Dean shifts uneasily, trying to take it all in. Kevin speaks up, stepping forward and causing Dean to flinch. 

"But you still have your grace, right? So...what exactly is the problem?

"The problem," Hael begins gravely, voice stern as if speaking of a terminal illness "is that we no longer have our connection."

"Connection? To what?" Dean demands. 

"Our...oh how do you humans say it, life support?"

Hael looks to Castiel who helplessly shrugs and tries again as Dean and Kevin look at her utterly lost. 

"How can I explain this in a way that makes sense to you," Hael mutters under Its breath, voice like wind chimes. Then It snaps Its fingers, smiling widely. "Ok, so infant humans, they have umbilical cords. And, well, say that you all needed to keep that connection permanently to survive. So with us," It gestures to itself and Castiel, "Our cord has been...cut. Our connection to God. Without it...we..diminish. Obviously these bodies are a temporary stave, but eventually....."

Another silence, but Dean speaks up rather quickly. 

"Ok, so we get you guys your..conncection back, but first, Cas, you gotta help Sam."

Dean turns to Castiel, but instead of a steadfast nod or a reasurring, unrelenting stare that he's become so used to, Dean is met by downcast eyes and Castiel bowing inward. Away from him.

"Cas, man...what's-"

"I can't."

Dean falters. He frowns. He throws his hands out.

"Why not? He's not just scratched up I don't-"

"Dean."

That familiar sterness stops Dean short, and he stares at Castiel with parted lips.

"Dean...I can't...help anymore...I'm not...I don't have my grace."

Kevin tilts his head, the looks he'd been fixing on Castiel earlier intesifying, while Hael politely turns Its head away as if beyond grief. 

Dean just stares at Castiel. 

Castiel feels a sudden swell and ebb in Its gut that makes It shift Its weight uneasily. 

It's Kevin who breaks the sudden tension. 

"Wait, so...if you guys don't have your umbilical chords, and these bodies won't sustain you entirely, because your grace is like your blood I guess, anyway, so then....what...what does that make Castiel?"

Hael makes a slight sound and Castiel stares once more at the floor. 

"I'm...human."

"Ish."

Dean and Kevin both look at Hael, who rubs at her forhead.

"Castiel...is...basically....uh...so if you drained a human of blood, there would still be small traces...obviously, left over and..."

Kevin pipes up.

"Castiel is a ghost wearing flesh?"

Hael pauses, then nods with a wince. 

"As far as it'll make sense to you, yeah...something like that."

"So then what will-"

"I can help your brother though," Hael interrupts, casting a side-eyed glance at Kevin that makes the boy suddenly shut his mouth with an almost audible snap. "And then, my main goal is to return Castiel's grace back to him. If we lose Castiel, none of us know what spell Metatron used to do this, and I'm sure we'll need something of the similar ingredients to reverse whatever...this is."

 

\--- 

IN PROGRESS

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to re-write the entirety of season 9, from start to finish, because I detest what the writers who took over the show have done with it. Back to the roots. 
> 
> As per usual, Castiel refers to himself as an It when in perception, not he or she.


End file.
